Harmless
by swampophelia
Summary: Arthur is the nightmare that wakes fathers screaming in the night. Appearances by Dom, Arthur, Eames, Ariadne. A one-shot, that may end up longer depending on reviews and the Muse hitting me deliberately with anvils.


**Title: Harmless **  
**Author: swamp_ophelia, swamp_ariadne on LJ**  
**Characters: **Dom, Arthur, Eames, Ariadne (by order of appearance)  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Warnings: **Minor for the movie, angst. Unbeta'd. Any mistakes are completely my responsibility.  
**Disclaimer: **Inception and its characters are owned by Chris Nolan. All events, institutions, regulations, locations, persons are either fictitious or used fictitiously.

**Author's Note**: I was stuck in traffic unexpectedly, then the Muse hit me. I've written Act II of Dia but I'm still missing some scenes (it's TV so it has to comply with the minimum length). I'm tempted to take out some of the scenes I've already written for the mid-season ep, and I've been forced to cut it the episodes in half. About Pictures, it's fully plotted but I just can't get Dom's voice right hence no updates yet. But the Muse said to do this in the meantime. Haven't done a one-shot in a while so I hope that this suffices. Like Steph I check more than twice a day just to see if anyone else has updated or written anything new, but alas it doesn't seem so. Hence this little thing. I'm not happy with the title, I might change it (in case the Muse hits again). Reviews would really encourage the Muse...

Not sure if there is any unfilled prompt that this can be the fill for. The first sentence was inspired by a favorite noir novel series, Garrett P.I. (Arthur as Morley, making Cobb Garrett). check it out.

* * *

Arthur is deceptively harmless. The truth is he is the nightmare that wakes fathers screaming in the night once their subconscious catches up. He's the daydream that their daughters take with them to bed to fantasize over. He's the bad boy the girls (and boys) all want, thinking they can tame him before they settle for some dullard who'll just work for an honest living and treat them like they're real people.

I'm jealous, because I used to be that bad boy that made the girls swoon. It was one of those awkward realizations that came to me while waiting in the hotel lobby. Vegas is crowded tonight - like every other night, and the showgirls seemed to be walking by with increasing frequency.

Standing by the lone corridor leading to the upper floors, we were waiting for Ariadne to show up so we can grab dinner when I noticed the appreciative sidelong glances from the attractive feminine forms that passed us. He didn't seem to notice that those eyes darted towards him as he was intent on getting the last word with Eames in some argument (this time it was about the efficacy of the FN Scar versus the FN P for crowd control).

Eames and I shared a look through the reflective metal surface of the elevator doors. Even he noticed, observer of the human condition that he is. He seemed to be getting his share of the half-lidded, surreptitious eye darts and he acknowledged some of them whenever Arthur turned his head. I eventually tire of keeping track of their conversation ("Eames, the Scar can be better hidden in a knee length long coat than the P. Sometimes you actually need to make use of the element of surprise!") and examine my reflection on the elevator doors.

My suit… well, suits me. I've gotten soft in the middle over the last couple of years on the run, which is ironic considering how much unscheduled exercise I've had to do. Its how one recognizes those who've been Dreaming longest. Darren was positively round in all the wrong places before his discharge from the Navy – before the Underground was born. In our dreams, we could always be what we were at our peak.

Some of the women brush against Arthur and Eames as they pass, which is odd considering that the corridor was wide enough to fit five walking astride. I lean against the wall, well away from the traffic. I haven't minded other women in a long time with Mal as the center of my universe. After all these years since I made my peace with myself and her, I am forced to admit that I'm not getting any younger and that I'm actually lonely. Miles has been bugging me to put myself on the market. But as I push forty, my body isn't exactly marketable and it won't bounce back if I don't do something about it. My unease grows as I notice that even Eames was getting wider and it isn't all muscle tone. I think we both need to hit the gym before the planning session tomorrow.

Where in the world is Ariadne? If I have to stand here while Arthur gets ogled by these skimpily dressed blondes another minute…

"Sorry guys, I had a bit of heel trouble."

Ariadne must have come up behind me from the other elevator. She was made up tonight, hair down, simple knee-length red dress, her arms covered in a shawl. I look at her feet and I don't see what the problem is. She notices and she makes as if to stab her heel into my foot, which I quickly avoid. Aahh...

"Those look high," I say, finally noticing that her head actually made it over my shoulder. She regards me silently for a moment, her expression unreadable.

"Yes Dom. These are high. I'd like to actually look my age tonight. The price I pay is that I can't move quickly, or even normally," she says drily.

"Don't worry love," interjects Eames, taking Ariadne's arm into the crook of his elbow. "We can set a sedate pace. So what if we're a little late? Our reservations are guaranteed."

I'm a bit disturbed that Eames interrupted, but there's no point in dwelling on it. I volunteer to go ahead and get the car while everyone else walks leisurely behind me.

* * *

Red suits her.

Ariadne was slowly walking towards us, and if I didn't know better I'd say she was limping. I don't recall any untoward incidents earlier today in the hangar. She went directly to Cobb, and that's when I notice the heels.

Dom seemed deep in thought, not registering Ariadne's approach. I was about to let Eames win ("Arthur, we both know you won't be caught dead in a coat that isn't bespoke tailored to show off your bum so how can you possibly hide a Scar in it?") and greet her when she spoke up.

She looked expectantly up at Cobb, while he looked at her relieved and then confused as he surveyed her footwear.

She had a playful smirk on as she attempted to stomp on Cobb's foot, and he took hold of her arm to keep her in balance as he avoided her attack. His eyes flick up to her face, realization breaking on his.

"Those look high," Cobb teases her, letting go of her arm. Their eyes lock and I wonder why we all bothered to wait for her when only one of us mattered.

Ariadne's eyes flared up a bit when she responded to him, though her tone seemed expressionless. I didn't notice that Eames positioned himself next to Ariadne until he spoke up, taking Ariadne's arm into his. Cobb left in what can only be called a huff, oblivious to Ariadne's eyes boring into his back.

* * *

"The FN P cartridge granted will jut out of a coat if someone with your wiry frame was carrying it…"

Ariadne has finally arrived, leaning against the wall having what can only be called a "private moment" with Dom when I notice the silence.

Ahh, Arthur. All these delicious redheads and blondes that were practically molesting him along this corridor and he is watching her. I test if our argument is over by chiding him that ready made garments could not possibly flaunt his rear and conceal a massive weapon. No response. Figures.

The two continue to banter, oblivious to the growing tension next to me. I move quickly next to Ariadne when I notice that Arthur was staring. I interrupt them, and Dom looked at me with uncertainty before going ahead. Though he doesn't know it, I already know where that look will eventually lead to as I walk next to two people who were looking at one other oblivious to the soap opera they are in.

Maybe it isn't too late for me to leave them to all this and hook up with the red head.


End file.
